


To Vex and Silence

by Steals_Thyme (Liodain)



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Not So Repressed After All, Outdoor Sex, Porn Without Plot, Pre-Roche, Snark, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-03
Updated: 2009-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liodain/pseuds/Steals_Thyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any other time, the rough confession would have probably dazed him, left him panting no matter how vague or borderline threatening it was, but right now it just inflames him further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Vex and Silence

It's pitch-dark and cramped and Dan is sweating buckets under the Kevlar, damp and warm and squirmingly uncomfortable. They've been crouched in the narrow channel between freight containers for close to an hour according to the readout from his goggles; the small digits glowing yellow-green in the periphery of his vision. Almost an hour of surveillance and not even the most tenuous indication that this is the right warehouse in the right part of the docks, or that Rorschach's tip-off was anything more than a ploy designed to keep them busy while the deal goes down elsewhere.

Christ, it's so hot. He moves his weight to his other leg, feels the sweat pool and run under his uniform, collecting in the creases at his groin. He makes a noise of disgust, and Rorschach elbows him in the ribs, eliciting a grunt.

"Quiet," he says.

"What for?" Dan mutters irritably. "There's nothing happening here, Rorschach." He pushes the goggles up, effectively blinding himself, and teases the cowl back to rub his hands through matted, curling hair.

Rorschach makes one of his usual noises and Dan feels him shift to a more comfortable position, still closely pressed to Dan's side like he has been all goddamn night, heat be damned. "Perhaps was misinformed," he says, his voice tight, grudging.

"You think?" Dan eyes him in the dark, picking out the shifting ghostly-pale white of his mask when his eyes adjust. "Got sloppy with this one, man."

There's a sudden weight flung against him, hauling him up to his feet and jamming him against corrugated steel. Ink floats into view, a cascading negative space. "Acted on good authority," Rorschach rasps, but the tone of voice is wrong. For the first time, it strikes Dan that Rorschach is not a very good liar.

"Bullshit," Dan retorts. He's really not in the mood for these infuriating, enigmatic games, not tonight. "You know way, way better than to mindlessly trust your informants. What's going on?"

Rorschach growls; a low, frustrated noise. He shoves at Dan's shoulders.

Dan wrests his hands away, looms forward to remind his partner who holds the size advantage. "Hey, quit it," he snaps. "Don't take this out on me. You fucked up, buddy."

He immediately thinks: _Oh god, I'm a dead man._

Rorschach seems ready to oblige this notion, grabbing fistfuls of Dan's cape and hoisting him back against the side of the freight with a resonating _clang_. Pressed close like this, Dan is suddenly, undeniably aware that Rorschach's short fuse tonight might not all be down to their failed stakeout, nor the closeness of the air.

For chrissakes, _this_ is how he gets off? Crammed into close quarters with his partner, surrounded by the stench of river mud? It's a little depressing how unsurprised Dan is at that. He grimaces, tries to extricate himself without letting on that he's figured things out, attempting to spare his partner's dignity (and his own embarrassment; it's been a while).

Rorschach bucks lightly as he tries to slide away, could perhaps have been mistaken for another aggressive shove if there wasn't hard evidence against Dan's thigh. He's not going to be able to feign ignorance for much longer at this rate, and hell, he's getting pretty uncomfortable in his own costume now.

When Rorschach grinds his hips against him again, slowly and firmly, Dan finally realizes his discretion may not be desired. "You set this up," he says, voice pitched high in disbelief. "You son of a bitch. I've been sweating my balls off all night, and you—"

"Can't stand it," Rorschach hisses. "Tried. Can't stand you— can't stand it, not any more." He grabs Dan's hand, curls it around the bulge in his pinstripes, claws his other hand into Dan's shoulder and attempts to push him down.

Any other time, the rough confession would have probably dazed him, left him panting no matter how vague or borderline threatening it was, but right now it just inflames him further. If Rorschach think he's going to get on his knees for him, after pulling this stunt... "I don't think so," he says, voice dangerous. He squeezes ruthlessly, temper simmering beneath a brutal spike of arousal. He's calling the shots, now.

Rorschach takes this turn with surprising grace, dropping quickly to crouch in front of Dan and shaking out a guttural sigh that speaks more of lust than frustration, pawing at the front of Dan's uniform. Dan feels nimble fingers skirt the edge of the belt and find the zipper hidden behind the crescent, pulling the cup away.

The humid summer air feels cool on his exposed skin after the stifling conditions of his uniform, and he revels in it for an instant, before Rorschach envelops him.

"Ohgod," he gasps, leaning over to brace against the opposite freight container.

A deep groan vibrates out of Rorschach, low and muffled and thrilling, darting up Dan's spine and making dense heat creep across his cheeks, neck, chest, breaking a new sweat. He jerks his hips, pushing himself further into his partner's mouth. Rorschach grunts and breathes noisily through his nose, scraping ruthlessly as he takes him right to the hilt and withdraws again in a jerky motion, teeth catching and dragging against tender skin. The head of Dan's cock slips from between his lips with a wet smack and Dan moans at the noise, at how loud it seems. _This is so filthy_, he thinks disconnectedly, nerve-endings buzzing with sensation that's just the right side of painful, hot and sharp and good. _Man, Rorschach, I never would have thought—_

He hitches in a breath as he feels a slick tongue sweep against the underside of his cock, probing at the firm flesh and leaving a trail of saliva that cools quickly. Soft leather skates over his balls, making them tighten and draw up; he twitches in response. "More," he demands. "Again."

He can just about make out the brim of the fedora as it tips up toward him, sliver of white rippling beneath. "Again, _please_," comes the response (voice a brittle whisper, edge lost without latex transmuting it), but Rorschach's mouth is around him again before he can snap assertively – before he can even think of the words; they don't come naturally.

Rorschach grasps the back of Dan's thighs as he ducks his head (holding him steady, pulling him in), and draws on him harshly, sucking hard enough to make Dan yelp and squirm before letting his cock slide out again to bob heavily between them. Dan feels the brush of pursed lips, just resting against the head.

"Please," Dan says, forgetting who is supposed to be in charge here. No– not forgetting. Not caring any more. He nudges his hips forward and feels those lips yield and part as he pushes himself in, fighting against the pressure and exploratory tongue, trying not to buck helplessly.

And then, infuriatingly, Rorschach pulls away _again_, rocking right back onto his heels this time, and says, "enough."

Dan's about to really lose it, frustrated beyond belief by this whole goddamn evening. Before he can catch his breath to call Rorschach a pricktease or worse, the smaller man braces his back against the freight container, shifting himself up to hook a leg around Dan's hip, all his weight on the other. He yanks him close, and oh _god_ he must have unfastened and kicked off his pants at some point because Dan can see his pale thighs almost glowing in the fuzzy dark, and _what the hell is he doing?_

Rorschach abruptly adjusts his stance and Dan moves instinctively to catch him, hands digging into Rorschach's bony ass to hold him steady, butting his shoulders up against the corrugated metal so he doesn't topple sideways and _ah_, Dan finally gets it when his cock squashes painfully against Rorschach's perineum.

"This is really fucking awkward," Dan hisses, adjusting himself with a gauntleted hand and moving Rorschach's leg so the back of his knee rests in the crook of Dan's arm. He doesn't even complain when Dan hitches him higher; damn, but he's flexible. "You always have to make everything so goddamn difficult, don't you."

"Shut up," Rorschach growls, and sinks down onto Dan's cock, the inside of his thighs quivering against Dan's waist. His teeth are bared and clenched, gleaming with stray flecks of light.

"No, I will not. Christ," Dan grits out as he sets a punishing tempo, shallow by necessity since they're crowded so closely, but unrestrained; reckless. His uniform makes horrible scratchy noises against the container behind him. "Why couldn't you just jump me back at the brownstone? Or even Archie. For god's sake, man; leather seats." He sucks in a breath. "God, you're so—"

"Too decadent," Rorschach pants, arching into each thrust, dangling tails of his trench coat slapping rhythmically against the container. The fedora slants jauntily, then tips off. "Shouldn't be comfortable. Shouldn't be _soft_." He grinds against Dan, grabs at his shoulders and lets his head loll forward until they're nose-to-nose. "_Harder._"

"You're so fucked up," Dan says, obliging with a different angle, hitting him deeper and catching his moan with a rough kiss, all teeth and crushing pressure. Rorschach keens against his mouth and tightens around his cock, convulsing against Dan in long, shuddering pulses as he comes over his suit jacket and Nite Owl's stomach. Dan drives into him twice more and finishes on a breathless groan, sparks dancing behind his eyelids, branching out and spreading and spiraling around dizzyingly, endless fractal art.

They clutch each other shakily for a long minute, gulping in the humid air. _God,_ Dan's brain supplies inanely, unable to complete a thought. _God._ His limbs feel like water. He slides out of Rorschach, who wobbles a few paces away to retrieve his muddy pinstripes, zip himself up and carefully scoop up his hat. Dan sorts himself out (takes several attempts for his trembling fingers to fix the catch), then flings an arm over his partner's shoulders.

"You okay?" he asks, as they limp toward Archie. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Hehn," Rorschach says. "Don't flatter yourself."

Dan snorts, grins at him. "You're such an asshole."


End file.
